
When you aren't on top of your game, going to a big test should feel like walking down the plank. You know: in your shimmies, inching forward to a sea of doom and despair and those little cartoon sharks with knives and forks drooling at the thought of your carcass.
So when I walked from my house on Capitol Hill toward the Georgetown Law Center to take an LSAT that I was clearly unprepared for, you would think I would be suffering a spell of the knock-knees and "oh shit"s. But I wasn't.
Perhaps it was the fact that the morning was beautiful, the sky was clear and the birds were singing. Or, more poetically, that my route was plotted to purposefully take me in front of the Supreme Court and behind the Capitol buildings of these United States. What better way to throw off the chagrin by trying to soak in some of the collective 'awesomeness' feeling that these institutions inspire in me More likely, however, my trepidation was quashed because I had an ace up my sleeve: the option to cancel the test by filling in two little ovals on the back of the LSAT scan-tron and attesting to the fact that I understood I was paying $132 (the most expensive practice exam EVER) for the racketeering scheme known as Law School Admissions Council to not report my score.
Most definitely the latter. Sometimes sunk costs just have to be forgotten like ships in the bottom of the ocean. Take the money.
So what to do now? Well - I have no full-time job, just finished an awesome internship on "The Hill" and therefore have lots of time on my hands.
So now I've got to avoid truly walking the plank. I'm going to get-up and write every day. I am going to study early and late for this blazzin' test. I am going to offer my hallelujahs to God, and shoot out job applications and emails to people who might recognize what talent and values I can offer.
And if that doesn't work in the next month or so... I guess its shiver-me-timbers: I'm coming home, mom!
